


ark dawning

by oculata



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Falling In Love, Feelings, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oculata/pseuds/oculata
Summary: Mickey likes being in love with Ian. He knows he does.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	ark dawning

He’d deny it, but he wanted to fall in love with Ian. Hell, he was already deep in and sinking further by the second—he just hadn't quite yet admitted it to himself. He liked the feeling of being in love. He liked the butterflies and cheeky nervousness; the feeling of a melting heart when his eyes were graced by the vision of a smile; how skin felt more like silk and velvet than flesh. 

He liked it far more than he had been able to admit to himself. There was something about those half-dates, the banter, the inside jokes, the bashful shrugs when he'd feel a gentle finger trace across his cheek and down his neck—something about it all made it feel like he was baking on the surface of the sun. But the heat didn't burn him at all. Instead it warmed him, like a marshmallow being toasted to perfection—transforming him into something gooey, creamy, and soft. Or like a grandmother’s famous pot roast, prepared with care and attention, then left to warm in the oven until the guests—starving and excited—arrived. He liked how it made him feel inside, how it made his stomach and chest feel like a dandelion in its cottony morph.

What he liked most of all, though, were the gentle touches. He loved to be caressed and held delicately, hands cupping his face as if he were a precious jewel. He fit so well into those hands, too, as if his cheeks were molded specifically to fit snugly between them. He liked the hugs and how their bodies pressed together. He especially enjoyed how those arms wrapped around his shoulders with care, always mindful of giving him enough space to breathe or pull away if he needed to. The idle fingertips dancing along his skin were wonderful, too. He longed for the moments when it was quiet and the ambiance was just right because he could expect to feel five gentle touches on his arm or the back of his neck, drawing meaningless shapes as an excuse to feel him all over. He often caught himself wondering how a foreign palm would fit against his as they walked around together—and then consciousness would shuffle the thought out.

Presently, his nails and cuticles were a mess—slobbered all over, the pads of his middle and index finger pruning. He could feel his toes wiggling wildly in his loose shoes. He was all over the place, bouncing up and down on the sidewalk as his fingertips drummed on his thighs. He kept squinting down the street, worried that he’d miss him but also worried that he’d see him and not know what to do. He was craning his neck, a fireworks display blasting in every crevice of his body, pushing him off the ground with its energy. 

Ian rounded the corner of the street. He was impossible to miss. And Mickey, his squinting eyes illuminating that red hair into a halo, immediately sank to the ground, frozen, and dropped his hand from his mouth. Ian grinned and waved at him as he strutted down the street, the space between them closing quickly, way faster than he was expecting it to.

“Hey,” Ian said when he was close enough. He eliminated the last inches of distance between them with another step, eyes running up and down Mickey’s form. “You look nice, Mick. Got dressed up for me?” he added, tracing the back of his forefinger along Mickey’s jawline.

His instinct was to jump away and hide, maybe curse Ian out for his recklessness while he was at it. But the street was empty—he had made sure of that—save for an old lady reading a newspaper on a faraway bench. Her presence faded into another universe, though, when he felt that _skin_ and touch. It was on a place that was never touched by anything except for Ian’s hands or Ian’s lips or Ian’s teeth.

“Maybe.”

Ian’s grin intensified, and his arm dropped to his side. “So what’re we doing?”

“I’ve got some rub and tug shit to do.” He paused and scratched his nose. “Wanna come with?”

Ian laughed a little and was about to say something sassy in return. But as his chuckle petered out, he settled on: “I’d love to.”

* * *

Much later that day, long after the sun that hung in the sky fell under the horizon, Mickey was on a bed, being pinned down by another light. His head was tilted back, his eyes were closed, and soft breaths were passing from between his parted lips. He would make the occasional little noise of pleasure, and even more occasionally that noise would slur into the breathy sound of Ian’s name. Their chests were pressed so tightly against each other that it almost hurt, and the arms Mickey had wrapped around Ian’s torso would only hold him closer.

“Fuck,” Ian panted into Mickey’s neck. The skin there was damp from Ian’s huffing against it, and the hot air of the word blowing against it sent a shiver down Mickey’s spine.

Ian slowed his pace to a halt and lifted his upper body off of Mickey a bit, the skin of their chests sticking together, attempting to hold them like that forever. Mickey looked up, and Ian’s eyes were light and dreamy. He gazed down at Mickey’s face as if he were beholding a painting. He uncurled one hand from where it was gripping the sheets and wrapped it around the side of Mickey’s throat, his thumb resting on Mickey’s cheek. He stroked the skin there, and Mickey’s eyes lolled closed as he sunk his face into Ian’s hand, feeling his jaw and neck contour to the hold.

“Can I kiss you?” Ian asked quietly.

Mickey’s clasp on Ian slackened, and his eyes opened again. He was greeted by a seemingly paralyzed Ian hovering over him. Mickey wondered if Ian was breathing at all. His hands slid down Ian’s back before stopping on his sides. He could feel the ridges of Ian’s ribs, and he could just sense the booming beat of Ian’s heart hammering against them.

He nodded twice, not noticing how his lips parted some more as an invitation for Ian’s mouth. Ian leaned down and sealed their lips together into a kiss. His grip tightened just a bit on Mickey’s neck and face, and he began to move his hips again.

Mickey settled on something that night: he liked being in love and was sure that he could do it with anyone, but being in love with Ian and having Ian be in love with him was the only way he wanted it to be.


End file.
